


reconnecting for christmas

by pipsqueakparker (lafbaeyette)



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Card Games, Enemies to Lovers, First Kiss, Holiday Fic Exchange, M/M, Theme Party, University Holiday Parties, baz isn't a grinch in this one, but not explicit don't worry, implied boning at the end, jesus i dont know what tags are, kind of, oh my god they were (flat)mates, shirtless simon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-31
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:02:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28460592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lafbaeyette/pseuds/pipsqueakparker
Summary: Dev finally pulls his arm back and nudges me until I turn toward the door, where partygoers are meandering in and out. “Next bloke that walks through that door, you’re going to talk to him. And, with any luck, by the end of the night you’ll have him in bed.”I’m trying to find a comeback, but then another blokedoeswalk through the door, and all of my thoughts stop in their tracks.Fuck.“This will most definitely be an all-out disaster,” I mutter, watching as Simon Snow greets a few of the folks by the entrance. “There’s no way.”“Oi! You’ve got to give it an honest chance, Basilton, what did we just agree to?”“Technically, I didn’t agree to anything—”“Just get your arse over there,” Dev shoves at my shoulders. “Try not to be such a tit, maybe you’ll actually have a good night for once.”And then he’s gone, vanished into the crowd of drunken twenty-somethings in horrid holiday apparel.And against my better judgement, I’m walking towards Simon Snow.
Relationships: Shepard/Penelope Bunce (mentioned), Simon Snow/Agatha Wellbelove (past), Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Comments: 9
Kudos: 186
Collections: Secret Snowflake 2020





	reconnecting for christmas

**Author's Note:**

  * For [arcanine](https://archiveofourown.org/users/arcanine/gifts).



> this is my fic for the secret snowflake exchange i helped run on our discord server! 
> 
> happy merry holidays, [arcanine](https://archiveofourown.org/users/arcanine/pseuds/arcanine)! 
> 
> your prompts were all so good, i had so many great ideas for what to write for you! i hope you enjoy the one i've settled on here. 
> 
> it feels a bit like the start of a bad hallmark movie, so i've titled it like a bad hallmark movie, and i hope you like it as much as i like those bad hallmark movies 😂 here's your university AU feat. a terribly themed christmas party! 
> 
> and happy new years eve/new years to everyone reading!

**BAZ**

I’m not a grinch, or a scrooge.

I don’t hate _Christmas_ ; I just hate all of the ridiculous expectations that come along with it. The ugly jumpers, the secret Santas, the grown adults trampling each other and trading blows over _toys_.

The annual holiday parties held at my university that I’m always forced to attend because my cousin is a fucking horror.

Those may be my least favorite tradition.

They’ve always got some ridiculous theme. No one really likes _theme_ parties. I’ll never understand how this hasn’t died out yet, but nevertheless someone has decided that this year’s theme will be ‘ _Father Christmas on Holiday’_.

What the hell is that supposed to mean?

I ask Dev when he rings to tell me he’s on his way. I hear his scoff over the line, as if this was the most logical thing anyone’s ever asked of me.

“Just don’t dress like a posh twat, Bazzy, and you’ll be fine.” He says. I want to say something about the nickname, but he’s hung up before I can get another word out.

I stare hopelessly into my wardrobe until he knocks on my front door.

“How are you not ready yet?” Dev asks, rolling his eyes and shoving me back toward my closet. “Fucking Christ, Baz, just _pick_ something. We’re going to be late.”

“We will _not_ be late,” I correct. “You don’t even enjoy these things until two in the morning, anyway.”

Dev ignores me and starts digging around in my wardrobe. I use the moment to take in what _he’s_ chosen to wear tonight. The man’s got red drawstring swim shorts patterned with white snowflakes and on top he’s wearing a Hawaiin shirt covered in Santa hats. The shirt’s mostly unbuttoned when he turns around, exposing his bare chest to me.

Christ.

“I figure you’re not gonna want to wear something that’ll expose too much skin,” he starts.

I cut in with, “You’re right.” He rolls his eyes again.

“Right, yeah, Saint Basil or whatever. Anyway, thought maybe you could go for the winter holiday look.” Dev’s holding a pile of clothes, which he passes into my arms quickly. “Try that on. It’s a different vibe than what I’m going for, but maybe it’ll work. Keep you warm at least, you’ll have one less thing to whinge about tonight.”

I resist the urge to roll my eyes right back. I aim to be a bigger person.

Fifteen minutes later I’m dressed head to toe in snow gear. I still don’t see how it fits the theme, but it’s a stupid theme so it doesn’t matter. Dev pulls a Santa hat over my hair, and I curse at him because I spent a lot of time fixing it, and then he’s dragging me out of my flat.

The party is as boring and awful as a university party is expected to be. There’s Christmas music playing and it’s just shy of being too loud to talk over, not that most people are here for talking. They’re mostly here for drinking, or hooking up.

A group of girls laugh nearby, tapping the rims of their plastic cups together. Dev seems drawn to them; the moment he hears them his eyes dart over and I know I’m about to lose him.

“Haven’t you got a boyfriend?” I ask, even though I know the answer. He does. Well, he kind of does. He and our other mate Niall have been playing this on-again, off-again game for the past three years. I can’t keep up with where they’re at “officially” ever, but I don’t see what it matters seeing as they seem to be shagging no matter their relationship status.

“We’re on a break,” Dev says. I suppose _this_ is where it matters. I still don’t think it’s the best idea; it’s not like he can bring one of them home. He _lives_ with his sometimes-boyfriend. I don’t say anything, though, because it’s not going to matter. Dev and Niall have whatever it is they have, and it seems to be working for them. “You know, Baz, if you’d ho it up once in a while maybe _you_ could be taken home by someone, too.”

I scoff. “I don’t need to ‘ho it up’. And I don’t need to be taken home by anyone, either.”

“Oh, piss off.” Dev elbows me in the side and I don’t even feel it through the heavy winter coat. “If there’s anyone here that needs a shag it’s you, mate. And, hey—” He cuts me off as soon as I open my mouth to argue. “Don’t give me any of your purity shit, I’ve seen your bedside drawer.”

“Must you go through my personal belongings?” I huff, hoping the flush in my cheeks is hidden by the low light of the room. “Who I do or do not sleep with is none of your business.”

“‘Course it is,” Dev laughs, throwing an arm around my shoulders obnoxiously. I loathe him. “We’re mates, we’re _family_. I’ve got to look out for you — otherwise, who’s gonna make sure you’re getting taken care of?”

“ _Me_?”

Dev ignores me, pressing on. “Tell you what. You give me _one_ chance to get you with someone, and if it’s an all-out disaster, I’ll never bring up your sex life again.”

“I’d prefer we just skip to you not bringing up my sex life.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever — Okay, one rule: You _have_ to give it an honest chance. None of this…” He gestures to my entire body. “Weird, mopey emo kid shit. We’re at _university_ now, Basil. We’re men. We _try_ to have sex.”

“You know that not everything has to center around sex, right?”

“Alright, well,” he shrugs one shoulder. “You can also tell me to bugger off if you don’t actually want to have a shag.”

I’m tempted to do just that, but something keeps me standing there. And eventually agreeing with an exaggerated sigh. Call it the Christmas spirit, or perhaps my notoriously repressed sex drive.

“Thought so. Alright, Baz, here’s the deal.” Dev finally pulls his arm back and nudges me until I turn toward the door, where partygoers are meandering in and out. “Next bloke that walks through that door, you’re going to talk to him. And, with any luck, by the end of the night you’ll have him in bed.”

“What if the next bloke that walks through that door isn’t _queer_?” I ask. “Do you ever think anything through?”

“Uh, yeah, ‘course I do. Baz, we’ve got one of the highest percentages of LGBTQ+ students here.” He lifts a hand to point to a sign near the door. “And this is being held by the university’s LGBTQ+ Student Center.”

_Oh_.

I’m trying to find a comeback, but then another bloke _does_ walk through the door, and all of my thoughts stop in their tracks.

_Fuck_.

“This will most definitely be an all-out disaster,” I mutter, watching as Simon Snow greets a few of the folks by the entrance. “There’s no way.”

“Oi! You’ve got to give it an honest chance, Basilton, what did we just agree to?”

“Technically, I didn’t agree to anything—”

“Just get your arse over there,” Dev shoves at my shoulders. “Try not to be such a tit, maybe you’ll actually have a good night for once.”

And then he’s gone, vanished into the crowd of drunken twenty-somethings in horrid holiday apparel.

And against my better judgement, I’m walking towards Simon Snow.

**SIMON**

I love these holiday parties.

They’re always loads of fun; people dress up in silly outfits and play a ton of games. I don’t always join them when they’re playing drinking games ‘cause I don’t like drinking that much, maybe I’ll have a pint or a glass of wine, but nothing much — although I have joined a round or two of King’s Cup with a lemonade just for fun.

Someone’s always got some card game laying ‘round, too. _Crabs Adjust Humidity_ , or whatever other knock-off game they’ve found. Keris told me the other week that she got a new one she’d bring along. I’ll have to find her later and play a round or two.

Agatha used to come to these with me, when we were dating. We were really only dating for the first four semesters of university, but it felt like _years_. (I mean, suppose it _was_. It was two years. But it felt like _so much longer_.)

Anyway, she didn’t come along this year. Because we’ve broken up. Also, she hated them. Always said they were “boring” because all anyone did was “sit around”. She’s not wrong, but that’s what I like about them. They’re rather relaxed, not like those huge, wild parties you see in films. I guess maybe Agatha _wants_ to go to one of those. But I don’t.

So I come to these. They’re held by different groups within the university, which is why they don’t often go off the rails. But they’ve got some right strange themes sometimes, like this year. _Father Christmas on Holiday_. I’m definitely interested in seeing everyone’s take on _that_.

I went with whatever I could find, like I usually do. I’d found some swimming trunks at the bottom of my wardrobe, forgotten from summers ago, I’m sure. They’re a bit tight, but I figure it’s fine for the length of a party. I was struggling to figure out what to wear on top when Penny’s boyfriend, Shepard, gave me a brilliant idea.

_“‘Holiday’ just means, like, vacation, right?”_ He’d asked. He’s American, so we get these questions a lot. I don’t think we’ll ever be past the Biscuits v. Cookies Debate of 2018. _“So… if you’re wearing swim trunks, just don’t wear a shirt. You don’t wear shirts on vacation at the beach.”_

So, I didn’t wear a shirt.

I wore a coat, Penny made sure of that. She stole an old one from one of her brothers; it’s thick and warm and just a little too big on me. Not that it matters; I’m used to things either being too big or too small on me. That’s just one of those things I’ve had my whole life: _Goldilocks syndrome_ , or whatever.

Thankfully it’s rather warm _inside_ , so I take my coat off and toss it into a nearby pile. (It’s got Penny’s last name on the tag, _Bunce_ , so I’ll be able to find it later.) There’s a bit of a chill when I first take it off, but I’ll warm up. I’m always warm, probably would be unusually warm even if I hadn’t worn the coat, honestly.

I’m just about to find Keris or a drink when someone catches my attention.

I’m not sure he _meant_ to catch my attention, but as soon as I tossed my coat aside I heard a quiet voice say, “ _Oh_ ” by my left side. When I turn around there’s Baz Pitch, grey eyes wide with surprise and pink lips still open around his _Oh_.

Fucking hell.

Listen, there’s nothing inherently wrong with Baz Pitch. But he’s a right prick when he wants to be. And he seems to _always_ want to be.

We lived together when we first came to university. He was looking for a flatmate; I needed a place to stay.

It didn’t really go as well as I’d hoped.

Baz _hated_ living with someone else. Or maybe he just hated _me_ , some days I wasn’t so sure. I’m not even sure why he was there in the first place.

It’s not like he _needed_ a flatmate. His family’s filthy rich; he could’ve afforded rent on his own. Which he did as soon as our lease was over. It was a hellish few months of being stuck in the same space as him, and now I really only see him a few times in a month. We’ve got completely different courses; we’re rarely ever in the same building.

Until tonight.

That makes sense, I remember he used to whinge about his cousin forcing him to go to all the uni events and parties. Looks like he’s still being dragged along, and now here he is standing in front of me looking a bit… dumbstruck, actually.

“Baz.” I nod. I try to be friendly, even if it is _me_ he has a problem with. There’s no reason to be a twat back. “Happy Christmas.”

Baz blinks slowly, then a couple more times rapidly, before clearing his throat and responding. “Happy Christmas, Snow.”

I gesture to his kit. “Father Christmas gone skiing?”

He looks down at himself for a second and nods, then his eyes are back on me. They drag down my body in a way I’m not exactly uncomfortable with, but I’m unsure how to react. I press on; that seems like a decent enough reaction.

“Summer holiday,” I say, gesturing to myself. “Couldn’t find a proper shirt, figured this was a way to cheat the system.”

“Aren’t you cold?” Baz is still looking at my chest rather than my face. I feel warmth bloom around my rib cage, and lower in my belly.

I shrug. “Not really.”

He seems to take that as it is and doesn’t say anything for a minute, but he doesn’t turn or look away either. I’m just about to make an excuse for myself when he does speak again. “How’re you enjoying the party?”

“Oh, uhm…” I glance around; I haven’t really taken anything in yet. I tell him that. “Just got here, actually.”

“Right. Yeah, right.” He clears his throat again, still not moving.

This is not typical Baz Pitch behaviour. Usually by now he’d have insulted me and gone his own way. Instead, I catch him sneaking glances at my chest and stomach and… lower. (I never really thought about how much these shorts might show off, considering how tight they are. Now I am. Now I’m feeling a bit self-conscious about it. But… Baz is _looking_.)

I decide to just ask him what I’m thinking, because I’d like to get into the room and find my friends. “Why’re you… talking to me?”

He scoffs. A much more Baz-like response. “Christ, Snow, what? A bloke can’t wish his old flatmate a happy Christmas?”

“A bloke can, sure.” I shrug. “ _You_ don’t, though.”

“There’s a first time for everything, isn’t there?”

“I suppose.” I frown, furrowing my brows as I watch him. He swallows thickly, and I think he might be telling the truth. He’s just… saying hello, and wishing me well, and… maybe he actually does want to speak to me? I may as well give him the chance. Now that we don’t live together, even if this goes bad I don’t have to worry about any consequences in the dead of night. “Would you like a drink?”

“Oh — No,” he says, then quickly catches himself. “I mean, thank you, yes, to the sentiment, but I don’t— I don’t drink much.”

“Me neither. Lemonade? Or, I don’t know, fizzy water; whatever it is you posh types drink?”

That makes Baz laugh, which makes me feel… accomplished, in a weird way. I don’t know that I’ve ever heard him laugh, unless it was at my expense, that is.

“Sure, Snow.”

**BAZ**

Simon Snow showed up to this party without a shirt. The absolute audacity of that man to choose _tonight_ to expose over half of his body to the world, the night that my cousin wants me to _fuck him_.

I really thought I’d win this one. When I first saw Snow, I figured it would just take two sentences before he’d be finished with me for the night. We didn’t exactly get along when we lived together two years ago, and I don’t see him that much now.

I’d like to say that I’d forgotten he was even here, but I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to properly forget Simon Snow.

It’s not everyday you get a new flatmate and fall in love with them within the same hour.

Perhaps that’s a bit dramatic, but that’s basically how it played out. Snow showed up looking scrappy and too enthused to be taking a semester of _maths_ courses. And for whatever reason, my brain decided that it was _him_.

_He_ would be the boy that I couldn’t stop thinking of, that made my heart feel like it was about to beat out of my chest just because he _looked at me_. His eyes are this stupidly dull blue color, completely unimaginative if you ask me, but I could stare at them for hours. His hair was a scraggly mess of curls, and it still is for the most part, though I think his girlfriend taught him a few things about proper hair care.

And he walked around in nothing but his pants! All the time!

Worst of all, he had a _girlfriend_. Agatha Wellbelove. Absolute beauty; caught the heart of every person within a twenty foot radius, regardless of sexual orientation. Even _I_ thought I might’ve had a crush on Wellbelove for a moment, and I’m queer as the sun is bright.

But _Simon_ did, and Simon was the lucky suitor that was _chosen_ to be by her side. Which made him unavailable, which made me want him _more_.

From what I hear I dodged a bullet, Wellbelove’s complaints have made their rounds. He must’ve been the worst _“Chosen_ _One”_ to have been chosen; rumor is they’ve broken up now. She didn’t come in with Snow, so perhaps that’s true.

_Perhaps he’s single._

Perhaps Simon Snow is single, and now we’re at this party together, and he’s handing me a fizzy drink sans alcohol and sitting next to me on a small sofa.

Did I mention he’s not wearing a shirt? Just some (incredibly tight) swimming trunks.

“How’ve you been?” he asks right as I’m taking a drink. I choke on it as I try to swallow quickly and answer, and I swear my face has never felt this _warm_. The way my body reacts to Snow’s presence is absolutely atrocious and I try to send silent messages for it to _Stop right this instant and get yourself in order_.

“I’m fine,” I choke out weakly, and Simon laughs, and my heart fucking _flutters_. This is completely mad. “Yourself?”

“Same, yeah. ‘M fine. Great, even.” He says.

“I heard you and Wellbelove called it off.” _Why would you bring_ that _up, Basil?_ I’m groaning inwardly, and he’s groaning outwardly.

“Uh, yeah. We did.” Snow’s dropped his eyes to the ground now; he won’t look up at me. “Is that why you’re talking to me? Come to take the piss? Or… get Agatha’s number, or something?”

I frown. “What? Why would I want Wellbelove’s number?”

“I don’t know — don’t your families… know each other, or something?”

“Yes, which means if I _did_ want it, don’t you think I’d have it already?” I do have it, but that’s beside the point. I don’t intend to use it for, well, anything, really. “What’s that got to do with anything?”

“Well, then, if you’re just here to take the piss, get it over with.” Simon waves his hand at me. “Just get it out, I’d like to at least enjoy part of this night, if you’d let me.”

“No, Snow—” I stop for a moment, take a breath. I’ve obviously misstepped, and I shouldn’t be surprised that he’d draw that conclusion. I wasn’t exactly the best flatmate; I’m sure we’ve got more negative memories than decent. “That’s not why I’m here. I don’t know why I said that, really. I don’t care. I mean — I don’t care for _her_ , at least. I mean. I’m _gay_ , Snow. I’ve no interest in whether she’s seeing anyone or not.”

“Oh,” Simon says quietly. He’s still not looking at me, which at least gives me proper opportunity to look at _him_. I think he used to be a bit more toned, when I first met him. He’s got more of a stomach now, a little pudge stuck out over his waistband and love handles I’d honestly just like to grab onto.

_Jesus, Basil, keep it in your pants._

Though, I guess that’d be the opposite of Dev’s plan.

And it’s not like _Simon’s_ doing a great job at that, either. Those shorts are so _tight_. He’s leaving so little to the imagination, and it’s not like my imagination needed much to go off of. The fabric’s so tight around his thighs I’m almost afraid it’ll bust a seam. (Though I don’t think I’d be that upset.) And I didn’t miss how lovely it is from behind, the way they hug his arse. They’re basically painted on.

_Fuck_.

“So, why’re you here, then?” I’m so entranced by Simon’s thighs and calves, I’m caught off guard when he speaks again.

“Um, my cousin dragged me along.”

“Right, yeah, I figured that. This doesn’t exactly seem like your scene, or whatever—”

“Hold on,” I stop him. “What do you mean ‘my scene’? What do you think would be ‘my scene’?”

He pauses for a moment, thinks. “I dunno, like… something more… pretentious, I guess? Something with champagne and waistcoats and — and poetry, or… something.”

“Champagne, waistcoats, and poetry?” I raise a brow. “Is that all I am to you?”

He shrugs again in response. “I mean, _this_ definitely doesn’t seem your… vibe. You know, silly dress and beer and card games, doesn’t really scream ‘Basilton Pitch’ to me.”

“I can drink beer and play card games, I’ll have you know.”

That makes Snow laugh again. I don’t know why this suddenly feels like something I need to prove, but it _does_. I nudge him in the side with my elbow.

“Seriously,” I say. “I can take part in your peasantry, try me.” He laughs harder and I nudge him again. “Go on, find one of these games and fetch me something… piss-colored, I’m not quite sure what else there is to beer if I’m honest.”

_“See?”_ Snow nudges me right back, but then he stands up and walks off. I only fear for a second that he’s done with me, but then I see that he’s gone back to the table of drinks and he’s talking to someone there.

Within a few minutes he’s returned with a few friends, a deck of cards, and two cans of something I’m sure is going to taste positively disgusting but I’m going to drink it _all_ to prove a point.

**SIMON**

I don’t know what Baz is getting at, but frankly, now I don’t want to question it.

This is _fun_.

I’ve found Keris and her girlfriend, Trixie. They’ve got this rhyming word play game. I’m not that good at it, but Baz is _brilliant_.

“The evergreen shrub with red berries and spiky leaves has mislaid its umbrella,” Trixie reads out. Keris looks absolutely _pained_ , face twisted up in thought.

Meanwhile, Baz, who’s on my team, is leaning in close and whispering in my ear, “Holly lost its brolly.”

Keris gets there at the last second, and then Trixie is handing me a deck of cards and hovering a finger over her mobile’s stopwatch. “Ready?”

Baz nods, rolling his shoulders back and turning to face me. We’ve been playing a few rounds now, and we’re getting awfully close to the end. Keris and Trixie’s last round was awful, and if Baz and I can get three more answers, we’ll be able to take this right now.

I never realised how competitive Baz was until tonight, but it’s fun to watch him. Especially with these word games; they’re obviously his element, and have I mentioned he’s bloody _brilliant?_

Trixie hits the stop watch and I flip over a card.

“Uhm, okay, a biscuit in the shape of a home is being nibbled on by a small rodent.”

“ _Please_ ,” Baz scoffs. “Gingerbread house being eaten by a mouse.”

I hear Keris whine, “Theirs are so much easier!”

“You couldn’t get _holly_ and _brolly_ ,” Trixie hisses.

I keep going, “The animal trough that Jesus slept in is now working as a guardian of the forest.”

Baz hesitates, then, “The manger is a park ranger.”

“Fuck,” Trixie swears. I chance a glance at her mobile screen. _Fifteen seconds_ ; that’s enough time for one more. “Last one for the win.”

I look back at Baz, who looks cool and confident and unbothered. I read off, “Scrooge is being a bit of a lad.”

“For _fuck’s sake_ ,” Keris huffs. All three of us are watching Baz, who’s staring at Trixie’s mobile now. I’m not sure if it’s the game or the alcohol I’ve nearly finished, but I’m starting to feel a bit warm. The timer is running and Baz _still hasn’t said anything_.

_Come on_ , I think. _This is_ so _easy, you’ve got to get this one._

I look up at Keris and Trixie, who are both starting to smile, because Baz is _stuck_. Baz is stuck and we’ve got _five seconds_ left, and we almost had this game in the bag, and —

“ _Ebenezer is a geezer._ ” The words leave Baz’s lips _just_ before Trixie’s timer goes off and both of the girls groan. I, however, against my better judgement, lunge forward and throw my arms around Baz’s neck because _we won_! We’re both laughing, though I’m not sure at what. The game? The feeling of victory? The girls’ matching groans as they start picking up the cards?

It doesn’t matter; I don’t think I’ve ever had a moment like this with Baz. Even if it’s just a win in a silly rhyming game.

I let go of Baz and our eyes meet for a moment. Something passes between us, though I’m not sure what. There’s this spark of energy, and my heart feels like it’s beating twenty times harder than normal. _Am I having a heart attack? Did Baz’s fake out give me a heart attack?_

Trixie holds her hand out between us, interrupting whatever it was. “Good game, boys. And nice to meet you, Baz, remind me to never ask you to join another word-play based game.”

“Only if you want to win,” he jokes, taking her hand. She shakes mine next, and then Keris waves as the two of them move back into the crowd.

I grab my can from the table, tipping it back to finish off the last few sips at the bottom. I watch as Baz does the same, then looks back at me with those grey eyes that are full of mystery and mischief.

“See,” he says. “I can do beer, I can do games.”

“You’ve proven me wrong, then, Baz Pitch.” I say. “How’s it feel?”

“Like I’ve just drank twelve ounces of a gingerbread man’s piss.” He sits his can back on the table. It was some weird ginger beer that someone brought; I overheard someone say it was _home-brewed_. I don’t tell Baz that. (Though ‘home-brewed’ sounds pretentious, maybe Baz would change his tune if he knew.) (I doubt it; it really did taste rather awful.)

When I check the time, I see that it’s nearing one in the morning. People will start leaving soon, it’s already started thinning out a bit.

I don’t know if it’s the beer, or the high of winning a game, or maybe the sheer proximity of the holidays, but something about being here, with Baz, feels really good. And I don’t want it to stop.

“Hey, Baz,” I start, and I’m not sure how I’m going to continue that sentence. He looks at me, eyes bright and cheeks flushed and a smile on his face, and I’m taken for just a moment. And before I _can_ say anything more, some bloke in a Santa suit is running up and jumping onto the back of our sofa. He’s holding something small and green and branchy in his hand, hovering it over our heads, and I think Baz realises what it is before I do. I look at him as it dawns on me, and his eyes are trained on my lips.

The mistletoe Santa has started chanting _“kiss, kiss, kiss, kiss”_ , and within a few seconds anyone left around us has joined in.

Baz’s eyes flick up to mine, then back to my lips, and I take that as invitation enough.

I kiss him, and suddenly that weird static-y, electrical feeling I felt in the air between us earlier is shooting all over my body.

**BAZ**

Simon Snow is kissing me under the mistletoe and I can’t find a single reason to hate these ridiculous university holiday parties anymore.

I can’t find a single reason to do anything _except_ kiss Snow back at the moment, actually. He lunged at me and barely gave me time to catch my breath before taking my face into his hands and kissing me harder. The chanting of those around us has been drowned out by the blood rushing in my ears, and the sound of Simon Snow’s lips sliding against mine, and the little sounds he makes when I finally slide my fingers into his curls.

I’m not sure how, but I’m suddenly living out the fantasy I’d built up in my head that entire year we were living together. And somehow, it’s even better than I thought it would be.

Snow’s on top of me, now, pressing me into the arm of the sofa and grabbing for the zip on my coat. I’m not sure how I’ve managed to keep it on this long, but now I’m absolutely burning up and just want it off. Snow unzips it and shoves it down my arms faster than I could even think of it.

I’m not sure where I expected this night to lead me, but snogging Simon Snow as he grinds into my hip in the middle of a public space was not on my agenda.

I don’t know _why._ It’s a perfectly lovely way to spend my evening.

Though, I think an even lovelier way would involve a little more privacy.

“Simon,” I gasp as he finally lets go of my mouth in favor of exploring my throat. He hums against my skin. “I— Stop me if this is too forward, but do you think you’d want to go back to mine?”

Simon’s head snaps up and he looks at me, grinning, his eyes gleaming. “I thought you’d never ask.”

We kiss for a few more minutes before Snow finally pulls himself off of me and helps me stand. I slip my coat back on and he moves off to a corner to find the one he’d been wearing when he walked in.

Of course it’s in that moment that Dev finds me.

“How’s that ‘all-out disaster’?” He asks, with his signature shit-eating grin. I’d like to punch him sometimes, but then I’m afraid he’d enjoy it for some reason. He’s twisted in the strangest of ways, I swear. “You headed home? Or back to his?”

“Home, thank you very much.” I huff, pulling my zip back up to my chest.

_“Alone?”_ He presses, waggling his eyebrows. I want to cut them off.

Simon’s back by my side before I can answer. He’s warm and he’s sliding his arm around my waist, and I can’t even pretend to be angry for Dev’s sake.

Simon, for his part, doesn’t act like he’s even _noticed_ my cousin being there. “You ready to go?”

I nod, then look back to Dev. “See you tomorrow, Dev.”

“You bet your arse you will,” he calls as Snow and I turn toward the door. He’s still yelling at our back as we leave. “Good on you, mate! And be safe! Use protection and all that!”

When we tell our friends about this later, I’m cutting Dev’s deal from the story altogether. I do tell Snow about it, later, after we’ve had our fill and are laying in each other’s arms. He laughs and makes a comment about ‘remarkably good timing’, but I wouldn’t give that to Dev.

Something within the universe worked out. Maybe this was my own wake up call to stop being so cross with Christmas.

I’d like to think the universe wouldn’t immediately jump to getting Simon Snow in my bed, but I am rather stubborn and the universe works in mysterious ways.


End file.
